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THE LOUDSPEAKER OF FAITH IN THE ‘CALM’ CITY
ISLAM AND URBAN DIVERSITY IN THE CONTEMPORARY BALKANS
Jelena Tošići
‘In the far distance, as if through an acoustic veil, I can hear the muezzin calling for the
evening prayer. Due to its conspicuous and iterative perfection, the call is easy to identify. It
is the recorded ezan coming from the Ebu-Bekr mosque. In earlier times, as there were no
loudspeakers on the minarets, while walking through the Rruga Philip Shiroka – one of the
streets of the Catholic quarter, Truma – one could most probably hardly hear the muezzin at
all. His chant would have been lost in the acoustic ‘order’ of this city, which has
accommodated different sensory and temporal religious lifeworlds for a long time.’
(Fieldnotes, 28.5.2012, Shkodra, Albania)
Introduction
In this paper, I explore various ways of ‘being a Muslim(a)’ in a contemporary urban context
within the Balkans through the prism of diversity. My main thesis is that, in order to be able
to grasp the contemporary practice of Islam in Shkodra – the north Albanian city where I
conducted my fieldwork – one must consider the particular dynamics of the local urban
diversity regimeii (Grillo 2010). Of particular interest to me is its underlying moral order,
which is comprised of beliefs and values providing guidelines for ‘right and proper conduct
within and between diverse populations’ (Grillo 2010: 1). Only through the prism of diversity
and its ‘moral grounding’ – the historically developed mode of living (with) differences in
this particular urban setting – can contemporary ruptures and debates among the Muslims of
Shkodra about the ‘good’ (and ‘authentic’) Islam become comprehensible. Furthermore it will
thus be possible to trace why these debates most notably revolve around the issue of
‘perceptibility’iii of religion in the urban space.
source: https://doi.org/10.7892/boris.76706 | downloaded: 19.2.2020
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In a nutshell, being a ‘good’ Muslim in Shkodra means that one is, first, an ‘urbanite’ (Alb.
‘qytetar’), or ‘Shkodranee’ (Alb. ‘Shkodran’). This ‘urban habitus’ is best expressed through
the emic notion of ‘calmness’, which as I argue, represents the moral core of Shkodra’s
diversity regime. ‘Calmness’ implies a general ‘contained’ posture – as well as a
correspondent reluctance vis-à-vis any kind of ‘over-pronounced’ or ‘excessive’ expressions
of, inter alia, religious belonging – and, moreover, is viewed as being the basis of peaceful
(religious) coexistence.
My approach to analysing the phenomenon builds on two anthropological insights on religion
from the seminal work of Talal Asad. The first is that religion cannot be isolated from other
realms of society (Asad 1993). Accordingly, this chapter deals primarily with the interrelation
of religious belonging, social status and the urban habitus, or rather, the ideology of
‘urbanity’, including reflections on gender relations. This holistic and intersectional
perspective in analysing a ‘Balkan case’, which has avoided relapsing into violent (religious)
conflict enables a critical reassessment of socio-cultural dynamics, and thus goes beyond the
hegemonic essentialization of religion according to ethno-national belonging (see also
Introduction).
Asad’s second insight refers to the inappropriateness of the Eurocentric, hegemonic, sharp
division between the ‘religious’ and the ‘secular’, and hence results in a call for explorations
beyond this ideological conceptual divide (Asad 2003). While taking into account the emic
differentiation between ‘believers’ (alb. ‘besimtar’) and ‘non-believers’ (‘jo besimtar’/’ateist’)
– itself an expression of the hegemonic ‘urge’ to unambiguously identify (non)belief – my
primary focus is on exploring the contemporary diverse ways of ‘being a Muslim’ in Shkodra.
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In doing this, I also join Benson Saler (2009) in acknowledging the ‘pointlessness’ of trying
to define clear boundaries between ‘religion’ and ‘non-religion’.
In the first part of the paper, I will explore the legacy and the actual religious diversity in
Shkodra. The second section analyses the inner diversity of being Muslim in the context of
the moral order of ‘calmness’, a historical and theoretical analysis of which will be given in
Section Three. Focusing on a crucial aspect of the latter – the ‘contained’ expression of
religion as a key aspect of peaceful religious coexistence – I will conclude the paper (Sections
Four and Five) by exploring debates and ruptures among the Muslims in Shkodra. These are
concerned with the issue of the perceptibility of Islam in the urban space, and reveal a
boundary between the ‘good’ and ‘authentic’ Shkodran Islam and a new, ‘foreign’ and
‘fanatic’, religious practice.
Tracing the Legacy and the Present of Religious Diversity
Shkodraiv, a prime example of a former Ottoman border town – often referred to by its
inhabitants as the unofficial capital of Albania and the ‘bastion’ of the urban middle class –
was a prominent target of the totalitarian regime of Enver Hoxha. One aspect of the socialist
legacy – of ‘fatal relevance’ for inquiries into religious belief and practice – is the period of
imposed atheism (1967-1990). Regardless of religious belonging and individual devoutness in
the narratives of the Shkodraneese, the totalitarian legacy figures as a traumatic period of the
destruction, not only of religion, but also of the urban way of life, crucially characterised by
the peaceful accommodation of religiousv and sociocultural diversityvi.
Like other religious communities in Albania, the Muslim Communityvii was exposed to an
increasing level of control by the state, culminating in the request to ‘instill’ in citizens the
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loyalty to the Hoxha regime and the state even before the ban on religion (Elsie 2010: 203).
Indeed, the grand mufti of Shkodra was one of the clerics executed by the regime for refusing
to comply with these demands (ibid). His execution – as well as many stories about
imprisoned Islamic believers from Shkodra – were often used by my interlocutors to illustrate
the claim that the Muslims in Shkodra were ‘favoured’ targets of the totalitarian regime.
While the everyday mnemonic practices (e.g. narratives, jokes, genealogies etc.) are a clear
expression of the traumatization meted out by a totalitarian ‘all-pervading’ state, one of the
few positive attributions to the post-socialist state – generally perceived as corrupt and chaotic
– is the re-instatement of religious freedom. However, there is also a strong reluctance among
the population to be identified as an ‘Islamic’viii state. An illustrative example in this regard
was Albania’s entry into the Organization of the Islamic Conference in 1992, which
engendered strong critique from Albanians from all religious denominations (e.g. Elsie 2010:
203). This attitude resonates with the reluctance of the Muslim population in Shkodra to
embrace new forms of Islamic practice, often identified as too pronounced and ‘fanatic’ (see
section five).
The newly-garnered religious freedoms in the local urban context of Shkodra has generated a
process of religious revitalization – including both mutual respect and competition between
the three main religious communitiesix. A milestone within the context of the return of
religion in the case of the Catholic community was the visit of the Pope and Mother Theresa
to Shkodra in 1993x, which not only had a strong impact on the image of the Catholic Church
in Shkodra, but clearly re-established the town’s role as the regional centre of Catholicism. In
the case of the Albanian Orthodox community, the revitalization was strongly connected to
the support of the Archbishop based in Tirana and resulted in the construction of a new
Orthodox Christian Churchxi in the centre of Shkodra.
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In the case of the Sunni Muslim community in Shkodra, the end of the ban on religion led to
the reestablishment of the local Islamic organization (Myftinia Shkodër)xii, with Faik Hoxha
as the first new mufti. Having spent 23 years in prison as a cleric, Faik Hoxha was a crucial
and oft-mentioned figure in narratives concerning both the suppression and the revival of
Islam in Shkodra. As in other parts of Albania and the Balkans, the Islamic revival in Shkodra
also featured the rebuilding of mosquesxiii, all (but one) of which were destroyed by the
Hoxha regime. The only mosque ‘spared’ – the old Lead Mosque in the former city centre
(Xhamia i Plumbit) from the late 18th century – figures as another crucial narrative reference
concerning Shkodra’s special role within the Islamic revival in Albania. Indeed, it was
precisely in the old Lead Mosque where the first ‘post-socialist’ grand mufti of Albania, Hafiz
Sabri Koçi, performed the first public prayer in Albania after the religious ban had been lifted
in November 1990. The establishment of ‘Turkish’ schools – with a strong element of Islamic
education, gender division and compulsory veiling – as well as the related influx of Islamic
charities and the formation of a new transnationally educated and connected clerical elite
were further aspects of the Islamic revival in Shkodra.
Of special relevance in this paper is the presence of Islam in the urban space in the shape of
public prayers, Iftars, diverse religious celebrations, et cetera. A related and prominent aspect
of the new ‘perceptibility’ of Islam is the transformation of the local urban soundscape in
Shkodra through the loudspeaker-amplified, taped, call for prayer xiv . Although not
comparable with the complex impact of the ‘ethical soundscape’ created by recorded sermons
marking the Islamic revival (Hirschkind 2006), the amplified ezan represents a crucial rupture
in the local urban soundscape in Shkodra, and ignites debates on the ‘proper place’ of religion
in the urban space.
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As hinted at in the introductory quote, the recently transformed urban soundscape crosscuts
another manifestation of religion in the urban space. Already in the very first days of my
fieldwork, a common reaction to my address -‘Oh, so you live in the Muslim part of town’-
revealed to me the implicitly religiously-based spatial organization of the city. In spite of the
frequently mentioned socialist top-down strategy of internal urban migration, with the aim of
‘mixing’ the city quarters – this crucial aspect of the Ottoman legacy (e.g. Sugar 1977: 74ff)
has remained relevant up to the present day. As revealed through everyday conversations, the
spatial manifestation of religious boundaries was both seen as a given (historical) ‘fact’, and
as a permeable and flexible spatial order. Moreover, this model of everyday life, with these
implicit and non-rigid boundaries between religious communities, was often used to explain
and illustrate the ‘calm’ character of Shkodra and its inhabitants. Religious coexistence was
often portrayed as an active social practice of mutual respect in the context of the shared
urban space. In this spirit, while we were once listening to a young Muslim woman talking
about her positive experience of living in a Catholic neighbourhood – where everyone
respected the other religious community by mutual visits for religious holidays – Lirie, an
accountant in her 40s, concluded: ‘Po, natyrisht, janë qytetarë!’ (Yes, of course, they are
urbanites!). This comment can also be read through the notion of ‘komsillek’
(neighbourliness) – widely used throughout the Balkansxv – denoting the Ottoman legacy of a
peaceful (inter-communal and interreligious) coexistence on the micro-urban level and hence
also a ‘moral environment’ (e.g. Sorabji 2008: 102).
A further crucial dimension of social order in Shkodra – based on religious belonging and
strongly ‘unsettled’ during socialism – is that of marriage practices. Although the present is
marked by a preference for faith-based endogamy – a model that was hegemonic prior to the
spread of religiously mixed marriagesxvi during the ‘atheist’ period – mixed marriages
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simultaneously serve as a standard argument for the ‘calm’ character of Shkodra’s inhabitants
and its most essential dimension – peaceful interreligious coexistencexvii.
The ‘Calm’ City
The recurrent term I encountered during my fieldwork, by which citizens of Shkodra
described both themselves and their city, was that of ‘calmness’ (alb. ‘qetësi’/‘njerezit e qetë’,
sl. ‘tihi ljudi’,). ‘The Shkodrani are calm people!’. ‘Calmness’ – the ‘metaphorical argument’
continuously reappearing throughout narratives, urban myths, life-stories and interpretations
of every-day interactions – can be seen as comprising the ‘habitus’ of the ‘peaceful and
tolerant urban dweller’ (alb. ‘qytetar’) insofar as it unifies an inner attitude and behaviour
grounded in an ‘urban socialization’xviii.
Religion is one of the crucial reference points of these narratives of ‘calmness’. The following
urban myth, which I encountered during my fieldwork – relating to a type of event happening
all over the Ottoman Balkans at the beginning of the 20th century (e.g. Clayer 2011) – is an
accurate illustration of the ‘calmness’ of the Shkodraneese, most notably represented through
the peaceful accommodation of religious diversity.
‘Once someone, who was not from Shkodra, threw a pig’s head into the Ebu Bekr mosque.
These were turbulent times. But the people stayed calm. The voices were not raised. The
people of Shkodra understood that this was an external provocation. The head was removed
from the mosque and everything was cleaned. The Bishop and the Imam got together right
away and decided to span a chain of light between the minaret and the church tower.’
(Fieldnotes)
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In this standard narrative, the moral order characterizing the local regime, and embedded in
the metaphor of ‘calmness’ becomes understandable through memorised social practice. In
particular, ‘calmness’ means first and foremost that one does not react to provocations –
always said to be external – and that one does not raise one’s voice. Rather, a Shkodranee
stays peaceful in the face of potential conflict and – as such – embodies the value of
‘calmness’. Becoming loud, conversely, would entail giving into provocation – in this case
possibly accusing the members of other religious denominations of having ignited a conflict.
According to this moral blueprint, ‘calmness’ – with ‘loudness’ as its corollary – also figures
as an essential social boundary maker. Indeed, loudness – often directly associated with a
potential violent posture – is particularly ascribed to the rural population from the mountains
(alb. ‘Malesore’) and the Roma (alb. ‘Gabeli’ or ‘Magjypi’). In this sense, the moral concept
of ‘calmness’ can be seen as a variation of the urban-rural discursive dynamics in the Balkans
(e.g. Stefansson 2007, Jansen 2005, Bougarel 1999). Generally marked by an orientalising
grammar (Baumann 2004), the urban habitus normatively stands for being ‘cultured’,
‘modern’, peaceful etc. while the rural folk are rendered as ‘lacking culture’, being
‘traditional’, violent et cetera (e.g. Bringa 1995).
In line with this discursive image of the calm ‘urbanite’ is a general sense of participation in,
and contribution to, the city’s economy, which is clearly revealed through the narratives of
members of migrant families. The primacy of ‘calmly’ accepting and incorporating one’s
affairs into the urban socio-economic and governance structures – as opposed to ‘standing
out’, for example, through ‘showing off wealth’, or disrupting the urban economy through
violence – is a crucial aspect of being an ‘urbanite’ (‘qytetar’). A contemporary example is
the considerable reluctance citizens of Shkodra express towards the currently emerging
‘Malisori’ neighbourhoods on the city margins, which are, inter alia, perceived as constituting
a ‘too visible’ display of wealth. The reference to blood-feuds (‘gjakmorje’) in the middle of
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the urban space serves as another narrative ‘constant’ of rendering the ‘Malisori’ incompatible
with the urban ‘calmness’ characterised by a peaceful and participatory attitude.
Of specific interest to the illumination of Shkodran ‘calmness’ as a variation of the discourse
of ‘urbanity’ in the Balkans is the focus on a ‘moderate’ practice of religion. In terms of
Islam, Shkodra is indeed comparable to the case of Muslims of Sarajevo, particularly in terms
of their self-identification as (‘European’) Muslims in a ‘cultural sense’ (Stefansson 2007: 62,
see next section). Accordingly, (rural) newcomers are seen as a threat to the peaceful urban
cultural and religious pluralism, due to allegedly being more prone to a more ‘fundamentalist’
religious practice and belonging (ibid: 68, see next section).
In ‘genealogical’ terms ‘calmness’ can be traced to different aspects of the Ottoman legacy of
‘governing’ urban diversityxix. A combination of clear boundaries – embodied for example in
the urban order of the city along mahalles based on religious (but also guild) membershipxx –
and the loyalty and contribution to the common urban economic space, represented the
Ottoman ‘recipe’ of peaceful urban coexistence. Religious pluralism and tolerance – including
the primacy, but also the ‘permeability’ of Islam – and participation in city life (as opposed to
tension and conflict) were the main markers of the Ottoman urban habitus. Accordingly, the
overall inclusive historical pattern of incorporating migrants and refugees into Ottoman
citiesxxi (e.g. Lafi 2011) – based on their social status, but also the potential and willingness to
contribute to the city’s economyxxii – reveals the importance of the Islamic-grounded moral
practice of charity, Ottoman ‘pragmatism’ and the impact of reforms.
While the urban myth outlined, dealing with ‘provocation’ through ‘calmness’, clearly
illustrates the strength and durability of the Ottoman legacy at the beginning of the 20th
century, under the socialist-totalitarian regime, which included an attack on urban values – an
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‘urbicide’ including socio-economic as well as material aspectsxxiii – the habitus of ‘calmness’
has transformed. It can be seen to have been ‘adapted’ to specific modes of survival within a
surveillance state. In this sense, aspects of contemporary every-day social practices and
‘social customs’ – such as jokesxxiv, the unpopularity of ‘pointing the finger at’ someone or
something or the ‘non-refusal mode’ of social interactionxxv – can be read as transformations
of ‘calmness’ due to living under totalitarianism.
Islam as the Locus of Diversity and Social Marginalization Based on ‘Urbanity’
How does the moral concept of ‘calmness’ – being constitutive for interreligious ‘urbanity’ –
figure when we look at the Muslim community in Shkodra in particular? The ongoing process
of Islamic revival in Shkodra includes both a wide diversity of manifestations of being a
Muslim(a) as well as a debate about a ‘good’, ‘adequate’ and ‘authentic’ practice of Islam.
Moreover, it will come as no surprise that the vertex of this debate is centred precisely on the
issue of ‘calmness’ in its diverse dimensions, and in particular, in terms of the perceptibility
of individual and collective religious practice in the urban space.
Apart from going beyond the religious-secular binary (Asad 2003), I hold that the constant
emic reference to religion as a ‘locus’ of diversity makes religion in Shkodra in general – and
Islam in particular – a favoured space of diversity, also in terms of the personal ‘design’ of
faith. This observation resonates well with the crucial theoretical insight that there is no clear
boundary where ‘religion’ ends and ‘non-religion’ begins (e.g. Saler 2009: 164) and that
religion hence represents a ‘graded category the instantiations of which are linked by family
resemblances’ (ibid: 168).
Of particular interest for the case of Islam is the reference to the individual relation to God,
which I repeatedly encountered in conversations with Shkodran Muslims. This not only
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relativises the – also ‘active’ – emic differentiation between believers (‘besimtar’) and non-
believers (‘jo-besimtar’, ‘ateist’), but also serves as an explanation (or legitimization) for the
‘inner’ diversity of religious practice by Shkodran Muslims. A concurrent explanation is the
reference to the impact on imposed atheism, the aftermath of which is characterised by a
process of individually and gradually ‘learning’ Islam and incorporating religious practice
into daily life (see also next section). Finally, this pronounced tolerance for the ‘variety of
being a Muslim(a)’ in Shkodra is perfectly in line with – or rather can be considered as
another manifestation of – the moral concept and practice of ‘calmness’. The unlikelihood of
‘pointing the finger’ at or openly criticising ‘non-believers’, however, has its limits. As will
become apparent, the ‘calm’ urban habitus appears incompatible with an ‘over pronounced’
and ‘loud’ practice of Islam.
When living and socialising in Shkodra – especially during religious celebrations or Ramadan
– one constantly encounters a variety of ‘pick and choose’ personalised forms of ‘being a
Muslim(a)’ (see also Introduction). Apart from declared atheists celebrating religious holidays
or declared believers who have never been to the mosque, in Shkodra, one is confronted with
a wide range of constellations of self-images, practices and claims of ‘being a Muslim(a)’. In
this section, I analyse this diversity through brief ‘ethnographic portraits’, and elaborate on
the intersection of social marginalization and religious practice in Shkodra.
‘In the Koran one can read the truth about everything. Everything that science said or will
say is already revealed in the Koran. Think of artificial insemination, for example! The Koran
says that a child can be born of a man and a woman together, but also separately!’ Although
one might think this view comes from a Muslim believer who is familiar with the Koran,
Sidritxxvi – a middle-aged shopkeeper – has never been to the mosque, and his knowledge of
the Koran relies exclusively on the History Channel.
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Ndricim, a waiter in his 50s who declares himself a Muslim, never goes to the mosque, drinks
alcohol and eats pork, yet complied with the Ramadan fast. While never complaining,
although visibly exhausted during the seemingly endless August days, he would explain to
me: ‘That’s simply how it is done. I always observed the fast. My mother is fasting, how could
I possibly not?’
‘Negotiations’ regarding belief in the context of daily necessities and gender roles were
particularly illuminating in helping me to grasp the complexity and transformations of being a
Muslim in contemporary Shkodra. Serveta, an employee in her 50s who had never visited a
mosque or had any religious socialisation, suddenly started using the ‘correct’ way of
referring to the Prophetxxvii. In spite of her openness to her husband’s gentle persuasion to
familiarise herself with the Koran and start visiting the mosque, at home, her husband’s
religious ‘turn’ often led to irritation, as revealed in the following conversation: ‘You can’t go
around in front of me when I am reading the Koran! Do you know at all what this is that I am
holding in my hands? You can’t just walk by it!’ While gently rolling her eyes at her
husband’s complaints, Serveta commented: ‘Where am I supposed to go? I have to iron, tidy
up and go around. I am not addressing you at all! What am I supposed to do? Jump over
it?’xxviii
Blerta, a clerk in her late 20s, and Sidrit, an entrepreneur in his early 30s, members of a close
circle of friends, both self-identify as Muslims. While never having been to the mosque or
intending to read the Koran, Blerta would however clearly prefer a Muslim for a husband.
Sidrit – having recently read the Koran several times, though not visiting the mosque – often
criticises Bektashism (his father’s religious belonging) as an ‘impure’ form of Islam while
stating that there is only ‘one Islam’.
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Ibrahim, a member of the Serbo-Montenegrin minority in Shkodra, identifies as a ‘Shkodran’
and as a ‘Muslim Serb’. While regularly reading the Koran and attending the Friday prayer,
he explicitly demarcates his way of being a Muslim from his relatives’ living in a close-by
village and identifying as ‘Podgorican’ (see footnote 30). Without explicitly condemning their
‘fanatic’ practice – at times legitimizing it by the fact that they went on Hadj, Ibrahim holds
that their religious practice (characterised for example by praying five times a day, wearing
long beards and short trousers, insisting on strict veiling practices for women etc.) is far too
pronounced for the urban context of Shkodra (see also next section). ‘I am not like them. I
pray and go to the mosque only on Friday’. I recall Ibrahim ‘excusing’ his relatives as they
once ran out from the restaurant where we were having dinner in order to perform the sunset
prayer.
Cross-cutting these very briefly sketched dynamics and illustrations of ‘being a Muslim(a)’ in
Shkodra are social stratification (and migration-related) aspects. For example, a specific
fragment of Shkodra’s Muslims is comprised of two segments of the urban population, with a
migration-based identity, which has inscribed itself into the local diversity regime through
vernacular terms of belonging. As is often highlighted in narratives, both the so-called
Ulqinak – migrants from the harbour town Ulqinxxix, who, due to their urban background,
more easily entered the realm of the Shkodran middle class – and the so called Podgoricanxxx
– who either settled in the surrounding villages or joined the working class in the quarter Rus
– are considered to have been more pious than the average Shkodran Muslims. Metush – a
historian in his late 50s – and his mother Saferja – who came from Ulqin for marriage almost
70 years ago – remembered how Saferja’s father decided not to stay in Shkodra after all. In
this example, the issue of ‘over-pronounced’ visibility of religious belonging proved to be
14
crucial. Namely the ‘Islamic appearance’ of Mehmet – an Imam in Ulqin – wearing a beard
and special clothes was viewed to be too radical and too pronounced for Shkodran tastes.
Again another segment of Shkodra’s Muslim population is comprised of the local Roma, who
themselves are divided between the population referred to as Egyptians (‘Egjyptian’ or
‘Magjyp’) living on the urban outskirts, and the population (referred to by the negative term
‘Gabel’) living in a slum-like neighbourhood near one of Shkodra’s bridges. As already
mentioned, these segments of the population are, as a rule, denied the status of a ‘qytetar’ –
embodying ‘calmness’ – and are instead portrayed as loud and potentially violent. Even the
Egjyptian – who themselves use the ‘urbanity’ discourse to demarcate themselves as more
urban than the allegedly non-sedentary ‘Gabel’, and who are indeed more included into the
hegemonic urban realm – are marginalised in terms of their Islamic religious practice. In
particular, their neighbourhood across the old market which – as it is often stressed by
Egjyptian representatives with the aim of clarifying their urban status of ‘qytetar’ – used to be
the centre of old Shkodra, harbours a tece of the Rufai order, which actively practices the
Zikhrxxxi. Although tolerated as a local form of Islam, this heterodox Islamic practice – like
the community’s members – is marginalised and considered a ‘deviation’ by the Sunni
majority for potentially being too loud and violent. Hence, in this context, the issue of
‘calmness’ versus ‘loudness’ clearly figures as the main discursive tool of exclusion.
Within the diverse meanings attributed to ‘being a Muslim(a)’ in Shkodra – cross-cut by an
‘othering’ of particular communities’ religious practices based on social stratification – there
are two significant contemporary ruptures among the Muslim inhabitants of Shkodra. While
both can be described as connected to the issue of perceptibility of religion, one rupture
represents an internal divide while the other demarcates Islam in Shkodra from ‘external’
influences.
15
Debating ‘Perceptibility’ Among the Muslims of Shkodra: The Inner Divide
The first rupture can be best described as one dividing the Muslims of Shkodra into those who
are critical of the new forms of presence of Islam in the urban space and those who welcome
them as a manifestation of Islamic revival.
Apart from a general openness to interreligious marriages, the first ‘way’ of ‘being a Muslim’
in Shkodra is most notably characterised by a standard critique of any ‘over-pronounced’
form of religious practice. In other words, a ‘contained’ religious practice is seen as locally
authentic, since this entails the manifestation of the historically grown ‘calmness’ as a
guarantee of peaceful religious coexistence. The crucial importance of this aspect of
‘containment’ – that anything too pronounced is seen as a threat to the local way of life and
coexistence – is most clearly manifested in the critique of the loud ezanxxxii, as illustrated by
the following fieldnotes-fragment.
‘Hamdi describes himself as a secularist, an intellectual, a Muslim, a non-Atheist and a non-
believer. The most important thing in his life is to be free. While we are drinking coffee in the
Grand Hotel Europa the call for prayer starts. “Do you hear this?”, says Hamdi visibly
irritated. “It should be forbidden that the Imam calls for prayer through a loudspeaker! He
can sing in the mosque and on the minaret, but why use a loudspeaker? Why does everyone in
the city have to hear this? Imagine you live next to a mosque. I mean I respect people who are
believers and pray, but why does everyone have to listen to this five times a day? This is a
provocation!”’ (Fieldnotes)
Beyond being a variation of the ‘classical’ secular argument of seeing religion as a part of the
private realm, this critique of the loud call for prayer can also be read as representing
16
reluctance vis-à-vis novel and unauthentic manifestations of local Islam in general. Further
recent transformations of Islamic practice critically highlighted in a similar manner are: the
locally unauthentic ‘foreign’ or ‘Arab’ style of the newly built mosques; public prayers;
veiled women, whose number is perceived as steadily rising; and a related spread of alien
forms of Islam, which will be further elaborated in the next section.
However, the ‘other side’ of the portrayed internal rupture among the Muslims of Shkodra –
comprised of persons often explicitly referring to themselves as ‘practicing believers’ as
opposed to ‘merely’ members of the Muslim community – as a rule do not share the same
reluctance regarding the transformed ‘perceptibility’ of present-day Islamic practice in
Shkodra. New mosques – although not denying their non-local ‘style’ – are commonly seen as
welcome, and indeed magnificent, successors to the smaller and more ‘grounded’ Ottoman-
style mosques destroyed by the Hoxha regime. These buildings are thus perceived as a sign of
a desirable Islamic revival. Moreover, certain forms of visibility of Islamic practice in the
urban space are endowed with a very positive connotation. A prominent example of such a
practice is the public Bajram-prayer, marking the end of the Ramadan, which has been held in
the street next to the biggest mosque in the city for the last few years. However, as well as
being contested among the Muslim population of Shkodra, this manifestation of the
transformation of Islamic practice has led to a ‘competition for visibility’ in the urban space,
most notably with the Catholic community of Shkodra. As I was once sitting, having my
‘regular’ coffee with Visar – a Shkodran Muslim in his late 30s – a loudly singing procession
of Franciscans walked passed our café. Visar commented, with a unique mixture of
understanding and sarcasm: ‘You see, since there is the public Bajram-prayer, the Catholics
are seeking to be more visible too’.
17
Another prime example of this ‘visibility competition’ is the debate on the Mother Theresa
statue, which was placed in the centre of the city in direct proximity to the main mosque. In
spite of a request from the representatives of the Muslim community to transfer the statue to
the entrance yard of the Catholic cathedral – since it represents a Catholic symbol and thus
not the city of Shkodra as a whole, let alone its Muslim majority – the communal government
decided against moving the statue.
The argument of Islamic revitalization – of which ‘perceptibility’ is seen as an integral aspect
– by a part of Shkodra’s Muslims is seen as a ‘righteous’ return to religious practice after
decades of destructive atheism. This is often expressed through the notion of ‘learning’ as
expressed by Drini, a young historian in has late thirties. Drini – considering himself a
believer in the state of ‘learning’ – characterises Shkodra-Muslims as a community in an
initial phase of the process of learning. ‘With the opening of Albania, also the religion came
here (…) you accept and step by step you may arrive at some point, but for me this is the
present condition, we are learning the religion at the moment, we are at the start of learning.’
Rejecting the ‘Fanatike’: private and Socio-Historical Demarcations
Common to both sides of the divide – even though practicing believers are in favour of an
Islamic revitalisation including the aforementioned forms of religious ‘perceptibility’ and on-
going transnational connectionsxxxiii – is a rejection of a radically visible Islamic practice seen
as strongly divergent from the local urban practice of ‘calmness’. This second Islam-related
rupture in Shkodra – manifested as ‘taking ownership’ of faith by marking specific external
influences as alien and inappropriate (see also Introduction) – can also be read through the
notion of authenticity, which is always ‘closely related to the relationship between an inner
state and an external expression’ (Fillitz and Sarris 2013: 14). The emic term one encounters
18
in narratives and everyday interactions referring to ‘over-pronounced’ practices of Islam is
‘fanatike’/’besimtare fanatike’ (fanatic/fanatic believers)xxxiv.
A myriad of impressions, encounters and stories negatively refer to this new and alien Islamic
practice and its over-pronounced ‘perceptibility’. Almost comprising a ‘genre’, the ‘sudden-
transformation-narratives’ about friends, neighbours and relatives are omnipresent among the
Muslims of Shkodra. ‘I suddenly recognised his blue eyes’, remembered Helga – a young
interpreter in her late 20s – while she recalls how she recently realised that the full-bearded
man wearing three-quarter trousers entering the same bus was her former schoolmate. As was
known in her circle of friends for some time, the timid young man, after having left for Tirana
to study, had suddenly become a pious believer and married a completely covered woman
from the countryside. Again, the discourse postulates that a too-pronounced perceptibility of
religion is not authentic, and is not compatible with the value of ‘calmness’. Veiled and
especially completely covered women are as a rule not held to be from Shkodra, and are often
ascribed a ‘rural’ origin.
It does not come as a surprise that there is a pronounced reluctance to open up the private
realm of the family to this novel form of Islamic practice. The marriage preferences of young
Muslim women in Shkodra are thus also going through a transformation related to the
appearance of a new form of ‘being a Muslim’ in the urban space. Sidita – a non-practicing
young Muslim – although preferring a Muslim for a husband, unhesitatingly states that she
would rather marry a Catholic than a too pious Muslim. In a similar way, Baskim – who is
meanwhile desperately looking for a Muslim husband for his daughter – fully complies with
one aspect of her ‘pickiness’ (that he otherwise nags about). Namely Lirije has recently
‘disqualified’ an otherwise interesting ‘candidate’ for very particular reason: ‘He simply went
to the mosque far too often’. Bahkim’s related narrative about his pious neighbour (most of
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the time living as a migrant in Vienna) brought about an indicative characterization of
Shkodra and its ‘authentic’ Islam. After having recalled how shocked he was by a Bajram-
visit at his neighbour’s home – where his wife was immediately led to the women’s quarter of
the house and he himself was repeatedly advised to ‘also start living according the Islamic
order’ – Bashkim concluded: ‘This is foreign to us. It comes from Saudi Arabia and there is
money involvedxxxv! We are Europeans. We don’t need this here!’.
However the ‘fanatic’ practice of Islam is not always located as ‘external’ and ‘alien’. As
revealed by historical narratives on families and the way of life in Shkodra, a more visible and
pious practice of religion does indeed appear as an integral part of the religious life in
Shkodra. Yet, here it is ‘othered’ as well. Apart from ascribing the more ‘pronounced’ and
‘fanatic’ practice to historical migrants (such as the ‘Podgorican’), social status and gender
figure as the crucial reference points of ‘othering’ specific modes of ‘being a Muslim(a)’ in
Shkodra. Namely, a myriad of narrative-historical accounts collected during my fieldwork
primarily trace the emergence of an educated, ‘modern’ Shkodran urban middle-class, whose
daughters would not wear a veil and who would have the opportunity to gain a holistic
education. Here, a more liberal stance towards gender relations figures as a marker of social
status and ‘urbanity’. The family narrative by Mirsad, a lawyer and communal employee,
clearly exhibits this line of argument. While talking about his mother, Mirsad continually
highlighted the fact that she did not wear a veil and received her education at the Catholic
Stigmatine Girl’s school, which – unlike the local madrasas – provided children not only with
a religious, but also a general education. The following narrative about Mirsad’s mother’s
wedding photo transcends a family and individual biographical narrative space. It can be
considered exemplary of the often-highlighted significance of the existence of an urban
Muslim middle class. Namely, Muslims who reject female-coercive religious practices, are
portrayed as being the basis for urban interreligious tolerance and coexistence. Along these
20
lines, not wearing a veil and receiving a holistic education as a woman is seen as a sign of not
being ‘fanatic’, and instead embodying the urban moral value of ‘calmness’ considered as the
basis for interreligious tolerance, and hence peaceful coexistence. ‘At that time women from
some Muslim families would never be unveiled – especially not in front of a camera. But my
mother was not from a fanatic family. Families like ours comprised the basis of the harmony
among the three religions in Shkodra. Their members were educated, they had the adequate –
economic and cultural – level necessary for tolerance’.
Conclusions
By applying the lens of diversity – in terms of intersections of most notably religion, social
status, ‘urbanity’ and gender – to a specific urban context in the Balkans, this paper argued
that explorations of the transforming Islamic belonging and practice must include an analysis
of the entanglement of legacies and the present as well as situating religion within broader
socio-economic dynamics.
Accordingly it has been explored how the ‘moral grounding’ of the local urban diversity
regime – embedded in the emic notion of ‘calmness’ claimed to be the basis of ‘urbanity’,
entailing peaceful coexistence in a highly diverse and migration-affected urban setting –
figures as a discursive instrument of inclusion and exclusion. As has been shown with regard
to the religious realm, and Islam in particular, ‘calmness’ ‘translates’ both into a pronounced
‘tolerance’ to a variety of individual practices of being a Muslim(a) – actually transcending
the (existing emic) differentiation of the religious and the secular – and a reluctance towards
any ‘over-pronounced’ perceptibility of religion in the urban space.
The specificities of the local diversity regime that have been outlined – although featuring
debates and divisions on the issue of the ‘good’ and ‘authentic’ practice of Islam – provide an
21
example of an urban setting featuring pronounced transformations of religious practice (after
totalitarian atheism and in the midst of transnational influences), while at the same time
(re)claiming a sense of ‘authenticity and ‘continuity’ for a historically-rooted modus of
‘accommodating’ difference.
Notes
i I would like to thank the following colleagues for their feedback and constructive critique: Arolda Elbasani, Sabine Strasser, Xavier Itcaina, Tilmann Heil, Rosie Gant, Raul Acosta, Thomas Kirsch and the members of his Anthropological Colloquium at the University of Konstanz. ii With reference to Foucault’s notion of the discursive formation, Grillo defines the diversity regime as ‘principles underlying the configurations of diverse populations’ (Grillo 2010: 13) and ‘giving diversity a specific direction’ (ibid: 16). Regimes are to be understood as processes, as constantly ‘in formation’, rather than as static phenomena (ibid: 16). iii The overarching notion of ‘perceptibility’ enables me to refer to relevant e.g. aural and visual dimensions of faith beyond the ‘hierarchy of the senses’ (e.g. Bull and Back 2003). iv According to the latest census, the core urban area of Shkodra has 77.075 inhabitants (INSTAT 2013: 84) v While being considered the centre of Catholicism in Albania (47,19 per cent of the population), almost 45 per cent of the population of the district of Shkodra self-identify as Muslims (44,84 per cent Sunni Muslims, 0,07 per cent Bektashi and a minority of Rifa’i). Orthodox Christians comprise the smallest part of the population (0,38 per cent) (INSTAT 2013: 39). vi For a more detailed account of the diversity configuration in Shkodra see Tošić (forthcoming). vii The structure of the Sunni Muslim Community in Albania established in the 1930s (four grand Muftis in Tirana, Shkodra, Korça and Gjirokastra) was the basis for the post World War II division into 4 districts with a grand mufti for each (Elsie 2010: 203). Along with the Sunni majority, Albania was and is one of the centres of the Bektashi community. viii Albania is the only state in the Balkans with a Muslim majority. ix This diversity of religions in Shkodra is a feature of the wider context of religious pluralism in Albania, in which – as opposed to other cases in the Balkans – religion as a rule does not figure as a marker and instrument of ethno-nationalism (see also Introduction). x On this occasion, the Great Cathedral in Shkodra was inaugurated. xi A further and ascending Orthodox Christian community – embodied by a newly-built church in the village of Vraka, 7km from Shkodra – is inextricably linked to the emergence of minority claims and organizations by the community of the ‘Serbo-Montenegrins’. xii The overarching state-level organisation in Albania is the Islamic Community of Albania (Komuniteti Mysliman i Sqipërisë) based in Tirana. xiii As in other parts of the Balkans most of the new mosques – such as the central mosque in Shkodra – are commonly refereed to ‘foreign’ mosques, due to their non-Ottoman appearance and the financial basis of their instalment. xiv This practice set in after the ban on religion was lifted in 1990. xv In Shkodra the word ‘komshiu’ denotes the ‘neighbour’, while ‘neighbourhood’ is usually referred to as ‘lagje’ (or ‘mëhallë’). xvi One of the reasons for a genuine openness towards mixed marriages is the simple fact that through a mixed marriage - since it is literally never questioned that religious belonging has to be inherited along the male line - the practice of mixed marriages is perfectly in line with the hegemonic patriarchal ideology. xvii A reiteratively highlighted fact is that two current religious representatives in Shkodra – the Imam and Orthodox Priest – are both children of a mixed marriage and as such literally embody the local pattern of peaceful interreligious coexistence. xviii The ideology of ‘calmness’ crucially intersects with of a prominent middle class discourse in Shkodra – the discourse on so-called ‘old urban families’ (‘familje e vjeter’) (see Tošić forthcoming). xix For a more elaborate historical grounding see Tošić (forthcoming).
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xx In the 19th century in the course of reforms aiming at creating ‘European-style’ urban governance (Sahara 2011: 26) administrative bodies such as the city council emerged, yet still religious tolerance and parity featured prominently as one of the main axis of power distribution and representation (ibid: 32). xxi This became especially relevant when – starting in the 18th century – the ‘Muslim character’ of the Ottoman city started to change due to the arrival of Christian traders and craftsmen (e.g. Sugar 1977). xxii In the course of the Tanzimat-reforms – instead of status (e.g. nobility) – primarily property and fiscal capacity (Lafi 2011: 21) became prime ‘coordinates’ of the urban incorporation of migrants. xxiii The core of the Ottoman urban order – the old bazar – was destroyed; internal migration measures led to the ‘mixing’ of the religious boroughs, imprisonment and extermination of the cleric and urban elites etc. xxiv When conducting fieldwork in Shkodra, one soon encounters references to the Shkodran ‘culture of jokes’ – the ‘humore Shkodrane’ – which is often used to illustrate precisely the calm urban habitus of expressing critique and tension in an acceptable and non-conflict-generating way. xxv One of my earliest ethnographic insights is the unlikelihood of being explicitly refused when asking for a favour (a contact, a source, attendance at a social event etc.) in Shkodra. Read through ‘calmness’, this practice of entering social obligations while already being aware of future non-compliance, is about avoiding an explicit ‘no’ as a potential basis for tension. xxvi In addition to changed personal information, all names of my interlocutors have been anonymised. xxvii ‘Sallallahu alayhi wasallam’ xxviii This quote can also be read as religious practice serving as the means to legitimate male passivity and thus the patriarchal gender regime, and in that way, negatively ‘moralise’ female efficiency and problem-orientation with reference to religion as ‘ingratitude’ and ‘impatience’. xxix Ulqin (mn. Ulcinj), a harbour with an Albanian Muslim majority, was ‘granted’ to Montenegro through the Congress of Berlin in 1878. Shortly thereafter, a significant number of Albanian Muslim families (or parts of them) – most notably well-off families of sailors or entrepreneurs – left for Shkodra. xxx The term ‘Podgorican’ (literally people that came from Podgorica, the present-day Montenegrin capital) refers to Slavic-speaking Balkan Muslims heading towards the core lands of the shrinking Ottoman Empire at the end of the 19th century of which a huge number settled precisely in Shkodra. xxxi The Zikhr/Dikhr – as an ecstatic form of loud repetitive prayer – sometimes includes a ritual penetration of body parts. xxxii Here it is also interesting to mention that there has been a citizen’s initiative asking for the curbing of both the loud call for prayer and church bells. xxxiii These are primarily manifested in the aforementioned new mosques and ‘Turkish’ schools, but also through the education-related migration of the Muslim elite (most notably to Turkey, Egypt and Saudi Arabia). xxxiv Unlike for example in Montenegro (or Bosnia), the term ‘wahhabi’ or ‘salafi’ is not present in every-day conversations concerning the novel form of Islam in Shkodra. xxxv The claim that families embodying the ‘unauthentic’ Islamic practice receive money was a ‘standard statement’ during my fieldwork.
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